


A Kiss for Every Occasion: SMT Edition

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Persona 5, Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor, Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Genres vary, M/M, One Shot Collection, Spoilers, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: A kiss can convey any number of things. An apology. A confession. A wish. A simple desire to share in the blinding joy of life, or in the crushing unfairness of it. They can taste bitter or sweet or comfortably in between. The only consistent truth of a kiss is that each one is as different as the people who share it.A collection of independent one-shots for various SMT pairings (both crossover pairings and non). Rating may go up as needed.May contain spoilers for all relevant fandoms.Each story is marked with whether or not it contains spoilers in the chapter notes.Most recent chapter: Abel/Hibiki, good morning/good night kiss





	1. Yamato/Hibiki - adrenaline/public kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to participate in one of the [kiss memes](https://habenaria-radiata.tumblr.com/post/177254442701/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a) circulating on Tumblr. The prompts really spoke to me, and I'm currently accepting requests for a pairing and a kiss theme of your choice! If you're interested in a particular theme, please feel free to reach out to me on my [Tumblr](https://habenaria-radiata.tumblr.com/). My ask box is open and anonymous submissions are enabled.
> 
> I'm open to requests for Yamato/Hibiki, Akira/Joker, Akira/Abel, Yamato/Abel, Hibiki/Abel, Minako/Literally Anyone, Abel/Minato, Akira/Minato, Akira/Ren, Yamato&Akira, Hibiki&Akira.
> 
> All one-shots in this collection are entirely standalone. Each chapter will be named with the relevant pairing and the kiss theme requested for ease of navigation.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy it. ♥ Your feedback means the world to me! Every time you comment, an Abel earns his extremely extra edgelord cape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request for each-uisge-and-glashtyn on Tumblr for an adrenaline-fueled/in-public kiss between Yamato Hotsuin and Hibiki Kuze of Devil Survivor. Thank you for your request!
> 
> This chapter does not contain spoilers.

* * *

 

Despite the deafening roar of wind thundering through both his ears, Yamato could somehow make out the sound of Hibiki’s terrified voice echoing through the air. Perhaps it was the distinct note of panic that made it carry further, slicing through the din of scraping metal and squealing wheels on the track. Or perhaps he was simply that attuned to his voice. Yamato certainly could not see him, but he could hear Hibiki call for him again, crying his name with increasing desperation.

Truth be told, it annoyed him a little. Did Hibiki _honestly_ expect him to be able to lift his head enough to actually look at him or, god forbid, try and respond? Just trying to squint at the screen of his phone and also hold on to the bar one-handed was enough of a trial without also attempting to reassure someone from 120 meters in the air.

The body of the car pivoted sharply, throwing him to the side so hard it damn near wrenched his shoulder from its socket. He jammed his ankle beneath the bar of the car behind him and held on for dear fucking life, renewing his grip on the cell phone that came ever closer to flying free of his grasp.

He’d made three goddamned circuits around this track and the nausea was beginning to catch up with him. Also his arm was growing fatigued, his bare hand straining and his fingers burning against the bar. This demon was really beginning to wear on his nerves. He had not caught so much as a glimpse of it, even when the car slowed enough on the ascent to make lifting his head physically possible. Was it simply a poltergeist in possession of the entire roller coaster? Had it folded itself between the metal bars stringing this god forsaken contraption together?

How did anyone do this for fun?

Civilians. _Really_.

Inspiration struck the instant the car slammed up onto the hill and stopped so hard he almost went flying forward before slowing to a more reasonable pace. The wind dropped from his ears, and his hair cascaded down into his eyes before he shook it away and eyed his passive slots.

He would have to sacrifice Null Curse for it, but he could handle that. With sharp, spiteful jabs of his thumb, Yamato equipped two shiny new passive skills and narrowed his eyes. This would not be pleasant.

But it would be oh so satisfying.

He heard the shriek of the demon as the car crested the hill, teetering at the dizzying apex just long enough for his stomach to drop. This was easily the highest point of the entire park, Hibiki a tiny white dot over a hundred meters below him, surrounded by a sea of black and yellow. Yamato eyed him a moment and slowly drew his foot loose from the bar behind him.

The car went hurtling down almost vertically.

Yamato flung himself sideways and let go.

He pressed the button of his phone again and watched in vicious satisfaction as an amplified Ziodyne burst from his screen, exploding across the brightly colored metal with such unholy vengeance that a shower of sparks rained down from the sky. He heard it scream as he dropped straight down, hurtling to the ground even faster than the coaster.

On the way down, he could think of nothing more petty to do than raise one middle finger. So he did, his other hand still clutched around his phone and his insides steadily packing themselves one by one up into his throat.

Even as it happened to him, he couldn’t think of any satisfactory way to describe what it was like to experience such a freefall. He felt like he’d expected to fall for ages, his hair blowing around his face, his breath thin, his heart seconds away from giving out. But it was not ages. Before he could prepare for it, his back slammed into the earth below him, every drop of air rushing out of him at once, and another shriek of familiar fear lit up the insides of his ears.

Yamato opened his eyes and turned his head to see Hibiki sliding across the grass to clutch at the black lapels of his coat. “Y- Yamato!” His face was as pale as Yamato could only imagine his own to be. He still hadn’t remembered how to breathe yet, so he had little in the way of response for his petrified boyfriend beyond to blink. Hibiki blinked back at him, both terrified and bewildered and also a little bit lost, as if he had a nagging suspicion that this was all some sort of bizarre fever dream. “…Are you alright?"

Slowly, Yamato sat up and shook his wild hair out of his face. “Yes, actually.” And he was.

Null Phys really was such a remarkable skill.

“Chief!” He heard Sako behind him, but he ignored her in favor of craning his neck up at the roller coaster to see that it was smoking, and the thick smell of roasted demon was beginning to drift down towards them. It made him smile.

“Yamato?”

Once more, Yamato dropped his head to regard Hibiki, and he eyed him for several seconds of silence. Hibiki stared back at him, his eyebrows pinched and his mouth open like he couldn’t quite decide what to say.

“Are you-”

Yamato leaned forward and grasped his face, hauling him in for a deep, hungry kiss. A strange sort of squeal burst from Hibiki’s throat, but he disregarded it and held on tighter, his pulse wild and his blood singing and an utterly alien euphoria gripping him so deeply he could not resist the siren call to share it with this boy he held so dear. Even if a good handful of his best agents were also there to witness his most egregious breach of professionalism to date – assuming one elected not to count his aborted attempt at organizing state-mandated Darwinism.

The longer he kissed him, the more slack Hibiki went. He slumped against his chest, breaking away from Yamato’s mouth and clinging to his back. “…Are you really okay?” he finally asked, lifting his head up from his chest.

“Yes. I am fine, Hibiki.” Slowly, his hands steadying Hibiki by the elbows, Yamato climbed to his feet. “That was _exhilarating_. I heard there was another demon taking up residence in the Ferris wheel.”

“…Yamato…”

Insistent, he tightened his hold on Hibiki’s hand. “Come kill it with me.”

Evidently, there was something terribly persuasive in his eyes or in his voice, because Hibiki took one look at him before he decided the wisest course of action was not to bother arguing. For the best, really.

Yamato was going to put him through his paces tonight.


	2. Akira/Abel - end of the world kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for an end of the world kiss between Akira (Persona 5 protagonist) and Abel (Devil Survivor protagonist). Thank you for your request! ♥
> 
> This chapter contains **heavy spoilers** for Persona 5 and Devil Survivor.

* * *

 

“Joker…are you sure?”

He pivoted on the heel of his boot to cast another short look at Panther, and slowly, he nodded his head. “Yes. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” Hers was a great deal more hesitant, but ultimately, she nodded back. Her boots made a strangely hollow sound on the slope of bone she followed, tailing the rest of the Phantom Thieves in their ascent.

Once again, Akira – no, Joker – turned away from her and stared out into the misshapen imitation of Shibuya, the buildings jutting up from concrete just like the skeletal new amenities erupting from the streets. It was less upsetting than he would have imagined to see Shibuya buried beneath a patina of ruin and gore. He’d gotten more accustomed to traversing Mementos than he’d thought.

He still was not entirely convinced this was really happening to him. That this was not all some extremely elaborate, year-long fever dream. He’d done so much crazy shit without batting an eye, but it would seem he had finally reached his limit. He could only suspend his disbelief so tightly before it snapped like a rubber band.

Then again, it hardly seemed to matter. If it was a dream, he was still inside of it, and it seemed unlikely that he would simply jerk to consciousness right before the big confrontation with the asshole god content to torture him for its own amusement. He suspected he would be awfully disappointed if he did.

A sharp breath burned between his ribs, and he turned away from the wreckage and fixed his gaze on the only person who had elected to stay behind with him. The only one of their motley crew who was not a Phantom Thief.

Abel stood right at his arm, his neck craned and his attention arrested by the red blanket of clouds obscuring the sky. That god awful rain still dripped intermittently, but Abel seemed not to notice. Thin rivulets of viscera slid down his face, sluicing off his chin and onto the pavement. He seemed interested, but not especially alarmed. Joker could only assume that he had witnessed far worse.

He felt his fingers spread, and a hand slid into his grip before he had even noticed Abel moving. The boy dropped his head, a thick bead of blood dripping from a snarled piece of his blue hair. The dark red soaking it made it look almost purple. Abel flashed him a bright, charmingly dorky smile that made Joker’s stomach burn. “You ready to do this?”

No. He was not ready. He was seventeen goddamned years old and an entire city full of people had just allowed him to disappear from existence and now he had to go face down a god to save their asses? It seemed laughably absurd, that a group of teenagers in ridiculous costumes and their R-rated Pokemon could possibly stand toe to toe with a god and actually triumph.

Joker was not like Abel. He couldn’t make the very earth bend to his will. He couldn’t make people believe he wasn’t there, he couldn’t fly or summon fire. He had a fucking model gun and a fake knife and he was going to get them all killed.

Beside him, Abel frowned softly, and he twisted to face him. “Akira?”

Joker – no, Akira – swallowed hard. “I’m afraid,” he finally said, and his hand gripped tighter at Abel’s own.

“Ah. I’m sure. I’d be concerned if you weren’t.” Abel laughed and reached for him, lifting both his hands to cradle Joker’s mask and push it up to Akira’s forehead. “You should be afraid. Means you still have a survival instinct and not just a death wish. But it’s fine. I’ll be right there with you every step of the way. And I have yet to meet an apocalypse I couldn’t royally fuck up.”

It felt so fucking good to laugh. It bubbled up low in his chest, and Akira found himself tilting forward, pushing his forehead to Abel’s as he laughed and clutched his pale hands. “Yeah? More than one?”

Abel flashed him a ridiculous wink that made him laugh yet harder. “Three for three, baby. Fourth time’s a charm?”

Akira snorted at him and looked away, both his thumbs gliding along the outsides of Abel’s hands and down to his wrist. “Who ever heard of four being a lucky number?”

“Hey, hey!” One of his hands disappeared form Akira’s grip, and Abel thrust a finger right up to his nose. “Four is a great number. Don’t you talk shit. It’s plenty lucky.” He drew his hand back and waved it dismissively, stepping back on his heels and regarding Akira with a sweet little smile tugging at his mouth. “Four is death, sure, but it’s also how many leaves you want to find on your clover, you know? We have four limbs. There are four elements. Four seasons. Four winds.”

He found his teeth tugging at his lower lip before Akira forced himself to stop, and his eyes darted up to Abel’s own, bright and red as the 8 of hearts. “Four suits in a deck of cards?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Another dazzling grin seized him, and Abel plucked his hands back up and squeezed them. “Three is the number of divinity…but four is the number of man. And you are about to bring a god to submission and crush it under your adorable, pointy joker boot. Right?”

Abel ought to write greeting cards, really. Akira’s heart thundered in his ears, his mouth dry and his eyes bright. He was right. He was damn right.

He was going to tell this god to go fuck itself after all it had put him through, and Abel promised to be right there with him when he did.

“Lucky number four it is,” he whispered, and he surged forward to grab Abel’s face in his heart-colored gloves. Abel’s mouth was utterly yielding to his own. His arms twined around Akira’s body, holding on tight as he met his desperate kiss. It was hard and it was passionate and Akira absolutely refused to let it be the last one he would ever have.

When he pulled away from him, Abel shoved himself onto his toes and kissed the sharp tip of his mask’s nose. “Let’s go fuck shit up,” he said.

Akira smiled back.


	3. Naoya/Kazuya - kiss of necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for a kiss of necessity between Naoya and Kazuya Minegishi of Devil Survivor. Thank you for your request! ♥
> 
> This chapter contains **heavy spoilers** for Devil Survivor.

* * *

 

_A restless wanderer shall you be on the earth._

That part was certainly true. A restless wanderer had he been on the earth, meandering through hundreds upon hundreds of lives while satisfaction ever eluded him. And oh, he’d certainly tried. In the earlier stages of his wretched existence, he had done his best to make peace with the way things were, with the way things would always be. His torment would be unceasing, and at the time, it seemed like the more spiteful option would be to deny the Shepherd the anguish it so craved.

For many years, that is exactly what Cain did. He drifted from one life to the next in a sort of numb acceptance of his fate, denying the sadistic Eye of the Night its satisfaction. But eternities have a way of making a soul submit. He could suffer only so meany deaths, could watch Abel’s demise only so many times before it became a sentence too much to surmount, and that numb acceptance steadily dissolved into a blistering despair.

The simple fact of the matter, as he expected the Shepherd had always known, was that one could not have nothing to live for when there was no promise of relief in death. There would be no peace for Cain. Each time he closed his eyes at the end of his life, they merely opened again at the start of a new one, a brand new circuit on his eternal carousel of reincarnations.

He would exist on this cursed earth until the heat death of the fucking universe, and no doubt even then, alone for the Shepherd to feed upon and feast on his bitter misery.

In acceptance, there is no energy on which to sustain yourself through forever.

As Cain denied the Shepherd his pain, so he was denied the choice to lie down and die in defeat. And if he could not do that, then the only option left to him was to find a reason to exist. If the soil would no longer give him strength, then Cain would choose the flames of hatred, stoking them to greater and greater blazes.

But as Cain came to learn, the latter aspect of his curse was a great deal more exaggerated. He found it to be true in the literal sense. But, ultimately, people were not wholly different from plants, and while he could not so much as glance at a lily without it withering, people were still entirely willing to let him tend to them.

Like plants, some people were perfectly hardy. Like weeds, really – stubbornly growing wherever they could entrench their roots, no matter how big an eyesore they were. Some were like orchids. Obnoxiously needy things that could become waterlogged even watering them only once a week, that preferred to be planted in north or east-facing windows because the others could become too hot for their oh-so-delicate delicate sensibilities.

Kazuya. Kazuya was an orchid. He tried so very hard to cultivate the air of a typical boyishly detached teenager, but Naoya had known him through too many lives to fall for that transparent affectation. He adopted the facade of the indolent, but he had a heart that bled for romance. Kazuya fell hard and fast and with a passion that Naoya would scoff at if it weren’t so often reserved for him alone.

He needed to be treated with care to thrive, and the balance was not an easy one to strike. Saturate with too much affection, and he would feel smothered. Too little and he became absolutely fucking unbearable. Very few people could mope as dramatically as Kazuya, as Naoya had come to learn through several lives with him.

Fortunately for their two-person household, Naoya had gotten extremely good at nipping that sort of thing in the bud, so to speak. Kazuya would start to get more quiet than usual when he was feeling neglected. At times, Naoya would do it on purpose just to afford himself the opportunity to get some damn work done when he lived with a hungry succubus of insatiable need.

But there were just as many times he simply lost himself in a project without any ulterior motives whatsoever.

Kazuya lay sprawled out over Naoya’s legs where they were folded near the edge of the kotatsu, his arms spread and dangling over Naoya’s thighs and his head nestled in his lap. If Naoya wasn’t going to volunteer to dote on him, Kazuya generally had no compunctions inviting himself into his personal space for a bit of overdue attention.

Apparently he hadn’t let him go so long that Kazuya was sulking yet. He could feel Kazuya’s fingertips skate along his legs wherever he could reach, touching his knees and tracing the slope down to his calves while Naoya steadily tapped away at his keyboard. He’d been poking at the same error for so long that he was beginning to go cross-eyed.

Slowly, Naoya sat back, drawing his hands away from the keyboard and dropping one down to Kazuya’s soft hair.

_And so, cursed shall you be by the soil that gaped with its mouth to take your brother’s blood from your hand._

The words echoed dimly inside his head, and a mirthless smile gripped his mouth. The soil itself may not nourish him, but his darling Kazuya certainly would, and did.

Virgos were earth signs.

Astrology was stupid until it gave him the opportunity to be smug.

At times, it could be almost poetic. The Shepherd must have had some kind of sense of humor, sadistic as it was, to ensure that Naoya was always born in late October. He was the water sign that nourished his pretty orchid of a brother, feeding him with soft kisses any time he began to droop.

When he drifted back to attention, Naoya realized that Kazuya was staring up at him, his eyes bright and blue and unblinking, and his fingertips pressing into his knees. “Naoya?”

He did not respond. He leaned forward, cradling the back of Kazuya’s skull and lifting him up to press a short kiss to his mouth, his hair tumbling around his brother’s smooth cheeks.

As far as maintenance went, he supposed it could be worse.

Kazuya gripped at his longer hair and kissed him back.

Naoya could not be sure if it was his roots that entwined so deeply inside his baby brother, or if they were Kazuya’s buried in him. He supposed it didn’t matter when the result was the same. He tilted his head and kissed his orchid again and again.

At least something still blossomed beneath his touch.


	4. Naoya/Kazuya - apology kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for Naoya/Kazuya of Devil Survivor, a kiss in apology. Thank you for your request! ♥
> 
> This chapter contains **heavy spoilers** for Devil Survivor.

* * *

 

Kazuya is seven when it happens in his life as a Minegishi. Despite warning him approximately eight _thousand_ times not to run through the goddamned entryway like that, Naoya ultimately blames himself – at least, he blames himself in his occasional lapses of forgetfulness, when it escapes him to lay it all at the feet of the one actually responsible.

Their grandparents had left for Kusatsu the night before, which had suited him perfectly well. It had seemed clear enough to him that they were still reeling from the death of their only other son, a mere year on the heels of their first. Now the only thing left to show for an entire generation of Minegishis is a needy little first year and a pasty computer nerd with crippling migraines and an even more crippling inability to behave like a normal person long enough to make it through even a ten minute conversation without thoroughly creeping out the other participant. It struck him as entirely fair that their grandparents would rather find any excuse to travel they could than actually dwell under the same roof as their grandchildren.

He’d banished Kazuya to the punishing summer heat so he could get some cleaning done without his little cousin constantly tripping over the vacuum cord, or harassing Naoya to entertain him, or just generally getting into trouble where Naoya could actually see it. He’d found it better to live in blissful ignorance so that his reactions of mild surprise seemed more genuine any time a neighbor complained to him about their cats suddenly gaining an excess amount of weight, or flowers disappearing from gardens, or that one time Kazuya got stuck in someone else’s tree with peach juice dripping off his face like he’d been taught table manners by someone who had gleaned the rules from a pack of feral dogs.

Kazuya respects his banishment for about twenty whole minutes. Naoya has just enough time to vacuum the living room, and he’d pushed the kotatsu away from its usual spot to clean the mat beneath it when Kazuya comes barreling in from outside.

One would assume he might have learned his lesson after the eleventh time he found himself faceplanting into a stretch of freshly cleaned tatami, but no. Kazuya always forgets the lip of wood leading up into the living room, and he can be counted on to go sprawling across it every single fucking time he bounds into the room.

Naoya can see it before it even happens, his hand still curled around the plastic handle of the vacuum, and he’s too far away to prevent it. This time when Kazuya trips, he crashes right into the kotatsu, his head bouncing off the corner like a ping pong ball. He can see a fountain of blood geyser up from his head and spill across the floor he’s almost certainly going to have to clean again.

Dazed, Kazuya lies there in silence for several seconds. Then an ear-splitting wail shakes the house as he cries, clutching a small hand to his hair where it’s already beginning to mat.

A heavy sigh rattles Naoya’s ribcage. He fetches a clean rag and presses it tightly to Kazuya’s temple, then scoops him up to take him out to the bus. He already knows it will scar, because it always does.

In their last life, when Kazuya was his little sister, Jenny, he’d been mowing their back yard while she played on the deck. A rock caught beneath the blade went sailing across the yard at the perfect angle, striking her in the temple so hard she’d required three stitches.

Naoya holds the rag tightly to his head the entire ride to the hospital, letting him sit in his lap while he cries into his chest. He cries through the entire process of being stitched up too, earning four for his trouble this time, and Naoya is sent home with some painkillers and instructions on how to just take them out himself when his skin has healed up. As if he doesn’t already know how. He’s been dealing with open head wounds a long time.

Even this many lives into his punishment, Naoya has no idea why the Shepherd does this. Why it so loves to torment Abel, his alleged favored child, who had done nothing more to earn an eternity of constant suffering than to be born and get murdered. It’s certainly not as if Naoya needs the goddamned reminder to know exactly when a new variant of Abel has entered his life.

And yet, every time, events are somehow manipulated so that Naoya is responsible for scarring his brother’s head, an altogether different Mark of Cain. Not once has he ever escaped a life with Cain without having an ugly rope of scar tissue along his temple, like Cain could possibly forget what he’d done to him without a physical form of mockery to bring it to the forefront.

Kazuya hiccups pitifully there in his lap, curled up against his chest on the bus ride home. Taking pity on him, Naoya strokes lightly at his back and his hair, his eyes lingering on the spot they’d shaved away to stitch his skin together.

“Nii-san?”

He blinks and draws his gaze away from the ugly scab of red between the thread pulling at his skin. “What?”

“Is my hair gonna grow back?”

Naoya cannot help his snort, and he pointedly drags his fingers through it. “Of course it will grow back. They only shaved a little bit anyway.” Ridiculous boy. Kazuya seems appeased, at least, and he curls up tighter in his lap and presses his arm along Naoya’s sternum.

He breathes hard enough to stir a few errant strands of blue, and he adjusts Kazuya’s smaller body until he can press a short kiss to the stitches. It’s a small, useless gesture. It wouldn’t heal him. It wouldn’t close his wound or make it hurt any less. It wouldn’t prevent a scar from permanently marring his skin. It wouldn’t even convey how deeply, desperately sorry he is that Kazuya is destined for yet another lifetime of suffering because of him. Because of their worthless father, because their mother had the audacity to feel entitled to the most basic understanding of her own existence. Because their Shepherd was and is a sadist who could only grow fat on the blood of the innocent.

Because he is Naoya’s brother, and Naoya could never, ever be allowed to know peace.

Because he’d done nothing worse than be born and get murdered.

He presses hard against him, clutching his baby brother to to his body until a noise of pain escapes him that forces Naoya's mouth away from his still-tender flesh and those rough stitches that feel burned into his lips.

More softly, Naoya kisses his cheek and strokes his back. “Are you going to run into the house anymore?”

“No, nii-san.”

Kazuya sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his hand before he closes his eyes.

He still has blood to clean out of the tatami. Ugh.


	5. Yamato/Hibiki - jealousy kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Kat! I'm sorry I took so long to finish this.
> 
> Yamato/Hibiki, a kiss of jealousy.
> 
> This chapter contains some spoilers for day 5 of Devil Survivor 2.

* * *

   
  
By the time Thursday was upon them, Yamato had a considerable amount of practice experiencing Hibiki's prowess in battle first-hand. He would never deign to call it _spying_. He merely observed. From the shadows. Where Hibiki was entirely unaware of his presence.  
  
Despite what others might think of him, his motives were hardly unfriendly. He simply liked to see him fight and admire his tactical abilities where Hibiki could be safely shielded from his...intimidating presence. He'd heard enough terrified gossip to be well aware that his simply being in a place where other people existed could inspire a certain type of performance anxiety. Hibiki was not an overgrown infant like most of the people by whom he found himself constantly surrounded, but Yamato still preferred not to muddy the results with any potential distractions.  
  
At any rate, he'd grown rather adept at not being seen until he chose to be, and it was from this vantage point that he watched 'Team Tokyo' confront Kama.  
  
Yamato was not overly concerned with the outcome. They had looked a little alarmed in the face of Kama's false bodies, but Hibiki had triumphed over both worse odds and better adversaries than a lecherous god of depravity who mounted an offensively neon colored parrot on purpose. Indeed, he had a particular idea how this would play out: Kama would perform exactly to the low expectations Yamato had of him and disguise himself to try and flee like a coward; Hibiki would have to strategically position his rag-tag little team of repurposed canon fodder to block any exits; Kama would come dangerously close to escaping, and then Hibiki would swoop in at the very last moment to kill the god himself and soak up all that delicious experience before anyone else had the opportunity.  
  
Truth be told, that tiny smidgen of ruthlessness made his cold heart flutter. No one else could be expected to appreciate such a thing, but it was one of his very favorite things about Hibiki.  
  
Unfortunately, the battle did not go quite like that. No, perhaps that wasn't fair to say -- the battle did go like that, almost down to the tactics Hibiki used. It did not, however, end the way Yamato had imagined it would.  
  
Hibiki had Kama flat on the ground, prone at his feet and utterly at his mercy when Yamato was unpleasantly surprised to find that Kama had managed to summon a backbone as he reached what would appear to be the very last few moments of his worthless existence. A bright pink flash of light blazed across the short distance between Kama and Hibiki, nailing him right in the forehead and knocking him flat on his back.  
  
"Hibiki!" While his agility, admittedly, left something to be desired, Yamato was sure he had never moved faster in his life. He leaped over the rusted metal rail and tore across the pavement, only narrowly avoiding walking straight through Shijima. Had he been moving any faster, Shijima would have found his ribcage swinging back and forth like a pair of ancient saloon doors.  
  
He dropped to his knee beside Hibiki and froze there, his fingers stiffening into ineffectual curls of both horror and utter confusion. Hibiki was staring back at him, a dopey, dreamy sort of expression on his face and a hot pink arrow jutting straight from his forehead. Yamato was not proud of himself, but a small noise left him before he could choke it back down. Hibiki blinked up at him, his vividly blue eyes disappearing briefly. Then he smiled at him as if Yamato had just pumped him full of eight lungs worth of nitrous oxide and was vaguely hoping for another hit. "Hi," he said.  
  
Yamato had to grope for his ability to speak Japanese for a shamefully long moment. "...Are you alright?" he finally managed.  
  
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
Again, Yamato found himself speechless. "...Well," he said slowly, doing his best to keep his voice measured. "As loathe as I am to alarm you, I ask because you have an arrow in your forehead. About six centimeters deep, if I had to make an estimate."  
  
Hibiki giggled, which he could admit was not the sort of response he'd anticipated. "Oh," he said. The boy did not seem alarmed as he had feared, or even impressed that he had an arrow lodged so deep in his brain. Yamato frowned back down at his lax face and hesitantly reached out to poke at the shaft.  
  
"I-"  
  
Abruptly, the arrow dissolved into nothingness, the pink light melting away to reveal perfectly unbroken skin. Yamato squinted and leaned down, nearly putting his nose to Hibiki's face as he inspected his smooth forehead. Hibiki indulged in another giggle that almost embarrassed him. "Your hair tickles."  
  
"Oh. My apologies."  
  
Yamato righted himself once more and brushed a small smudge of dirt from his knee. More gently, he lowered his hand to grasp Hibiki's and help him to his feet. He seemed well enough for having just been shot in the face with magic. Mostly. The instant he was upright, Hibiki swayed closer into his space, batting his thick, dark lashes. "Has anyone ever told you your eyes are really pretty?"  
  
What on earth. Yamato could not quite help the bark of laughter that erupted from him. "No, Hibiki. I can assure you that no one has ever told me that."  
  
"Dude!"  
  
Ugh. Yamato's allegedly-pretty eyes narrowed into slits as he turned to see Shijima finally compose himself enough to come flailing up to Hibiki, as useful as a rag doll and half as coordinated. Shijima hurled himself at Hibiki, nearly unbalancing his already tumultuous footing. "What's the matter with you? Why are you going gaga over _Yamato_?!"  
  
As incredibly irritating as it was to listen to someone assert such overexaggerated horror that anyone might profess to be attracted to him in some capacity, privately, Yamato had to agree. Still, he rolled his eyes and swatted Shijima off Hibiki to help steady him again. "Quite," he muttered, enough venom dripping from his tongue to kill a woodrat. "Hibiki, we need to get you to the clinic-"  
  
He was interrupted by Shijima making what he could only assume was a laughably pathetic attempt at subtlety. "You know he's a dude right," he hissed into Hibiki's ear.  
  
"I highly doubt my gender has escaped him." Yamato pushed him away harder, grabbing at Hibiki's skinny bicep. "I am taking him to the infirmary. Go collect Kama, or I will use _you_ as Shiva's target. Is that clear?"  
  
"Y- Yes, sir..." He left Team Tokyo to slouch away and obey him, drawing Hibiki beside him while he swayed on his long legs and leaned into him a little more than Yamato felt was necessary.  
  
In fact, they had been walking for less than two minutes when Hibiki began sagging dramatically, clutching at his bicep. Evidently, all the strength draining so rapidly from his legs was going right to his arms. "Yamato," he crooned, his voice dropping to a pitiful whine, "I don't think I can walk. You should carry me."  
  
He could not find it within himself to argue. Hibiki was slowing him down, which was quite the feat in and of itself. It would be quicker just to indulge this incredibly bizarre, uncharacteristic whim. Without a word, he hefted Hibiki up into his arms and carried him the rest of the way. "I thought you were fine," he commented, his tone mild.  
  
"Mmm, but now I feel faint."  
  
Yamato snorted at him. This entire situation was absurd, but he could admit to being awfully entertained by it. Hibiki was practically swooning in his arms. Even if it was only due to some pervert's ill-intended arrow, the novelty was enough that Yamato was more amused than he was annoyed and somewhat unsettled -- which he also was.  
  
Miraculously, they arrived back at the Tokyo headquarters without Hibiki succumbing to his vapors, but he still refused to be put back on his feet. He latched onto Yamato's neck even as they rode the elevator down, his legs twined around his waist. Perhaps this was what eucalyptus felt like to have koalas nesting on it. It was...peculiar. He'd never been around anyone who actually wanted to touch him before. Yamato could not decide if he liked it or was ever so slightly terrified by it.  
  
For Hibiki's sake, he would endure, no matter which side he came down on. As the elevator slid to a stop, Yamato stepped out, doing his best to walk with Hibiki having attached himself to his chest and nuzzling his neck with the chilly tip of his nose.  
  
He was not able to reach the sanctity of the medical wing before he was waylaid by Sako coming down the hall. She slowed to a halt only when it seemed to register in her mind that he had a Hibiki-shaped growth emerging from his torso. "Uhm- s- sir? Is Kuze alright?"  
  
That was rather debatable. Yamato tilted his head to see Hibiki's own swiveling towards Sako. He couldn't see the expression he was making, considering it was now pointed away from him, but he did hear something that sounded like an angry alley cat spitting at a dog. "He is breathing," Yamato told her, gazing back at her from around Hibiki's wild head of hair. "We are in need of Yanagiya's assistance."  
  
"I'll say. What happened to the boy wonder?"  
  
Further annoyed, Yamato opened his mouth to respond when Hibiki's arm curled around his throat, his grip so tight that he might be concerned about the state of his trachea if Hibiki had more strength than a piece of wet cardboard. As gingerly as possible, Yamato grasped at his forearms and pried him off. "Kanno," he murmured. "He was hit by one of Kama's arrows. He believes he is infatuated with me. As I said, we need to get him to Yanagiya-"  
  
"Otome's busy," Kanno assured him. "You know, doing the whole doctor thing, treating a bunch of people with bones sticking out. I don't think lover boy here constitutes an 'emergency'."  
  
Wonderful. Yamato swallowed an acidic retort and angled his head away as he felt Hibiki try to headbutt him in an attempt to cling to him again. "Why do I feel your assessment would be rather different if you were on the receiving end of such...attention?" Eugh. This was ridiculous. Yamato cut off her attempted reply with a sharp flick of his hand. "It doesn't matter. Yanagiya is not our only medical personnel. Go get someone. _Now_."  
  
He'd been speaking to Kanno, but of course, Sako was the one to snap to attention and salute him. "Yes, sir! I'll bring someone right away."  
  
She hurried away with Kanno following a great deal more lazily, shoving a pinkie into her ear and scratching. Yamato made a sour face at her turned back, but as Hibiki's mouth connected with his temple, he turned to try and look at him. "Hibiki. What are you doing? Would you kindly be still? You're going to end up on the floor."  
  
"You wouldn't drop me, would you?" Hibiki squished his face yet harder into Yamato's temple, nuzzling so hard that he could feel his hair go about eight different directions.  
  
"Hibiki-"  
  
He did pull away then, but only to pout colorfully and slap both his palms to Yamato's cheeks. "Yamato. They were pretty. I don't like it."  
  
"You don't-- what?"  
  
What? Yamato was so startled he couldn't even begin to start workshopping a response to that. Who was pretty? Sako and Kanno? He'd never even spared an errant brain cell to their aesthetic appeal. Why would he? He only cared that they could perform their duties, and he was willing to put up with metric truck tons of attitude for their talents. Which he did. Frequently.  
  
"Are you suggesting I have them work with bags over their faces?"  
  
Hibiki lit up, so bright he felt dangerously close to going blind. The boy embraced Yamato tightly, pressing his lips to the top of his skull. "You would do that for me?! You're so sweet."  
  
"I did not-"  
  
"Whoa."  
  
Oh, for fuck's sake. Yamato froze yet again, his fingers clawing at Hibiki's back until he was forced to shove his face to the side to see Agent Yvan staring at him with a cocked eyebrow. "I do not want to hear it."  
  
"Yeah, I'll bet you don't." Yvan laughed at him and tossed his long blond hair behind him. "Jeez, you really did a number on him. He's obviously delirious. Did he just say Sako and Kanno are pretty? That's adorable, that you feel so threatened, but Sako is married to Yamato's right hand and Kanno is married to that giant computer she somehow managed to lug all over the city. I think you're fine."  
  
God damn it. "Yvan. Either you can make yourself useful, or I can put you to work-"  
  
Yvan ignored him as if he hadn't spoken at all, stepping forward and eyeing Hibiki as the boy's hackles raised right there in Yamato's arms. "Jesus, he's like a spitting cat. That's adorable! Aww, he's possessive. I can't believe you're threatened by Sako of all people. What man can resist the allure of Madonna cones? She looks like she buys bras from the same store as my grandma. I'm going to ask her if she does all her shopping from catalogues from the 1950's."  
  
How was he so very talented at hiring the sassiest assholes on the planet? Yamato glowered at him until Yvan decided he was done exercising his acerbic wit before he exhaled sharply. "I hope you understand that the only reason I'm not writing you up as we speak is because I do not currently have a pen on my person."  
  
Yvan smirked for him and thrust a finger at his face. "You can deliver my demerit after you've fixed your boyfriend, I'm sure. Just put it on my desk, boss. I'm looking forward to seeing how you manage to dance around writing 'bras', 'breasts', or 'sex' on the reason for my write up. Later. Have fun with the nerd brigade."  
  
He turned and bounced away with another sarcastic flip of his hair that pissed him off yet more, but his parting words were confusing enough that Yamato turned.  
  
Oh. God.  
  
Nerd brigade indeed. He huffed into Hibiki's hair as Shijima booked it towards him. "Is Hibiki still being weird and creepy?!"  
  
"Ugh, tell everyone to go away!" Hibiki wailed and tugged Yamato's hair so hard he nearly dropped him. "I just want to be with Yamato. Everyone leave me alone!"  
  
Shijima's face collapsed into the saddest thunder cloud Yamato had ever seen. He enjoyed the stupid look on it. "Creepy and weird? He is a bit over the top, obviously, but curses are not well known for being subtle. Jealousy is such an unattractive trait, Shijima."  
  
It was such a petty, childish jab that was beneath him, but the way Shijima sputtered in incoherent outrage was music to his vindictive ears. All the morseo when Hibiki peeled back from his chest and stared down at him with another dreamy expression crossing his pretty features. " _You're_ not unattractive, Yamato."  
  
"Wh- I'm not _jealous_! You're jealous! Shut up! I just want him to stop embarrassing himself and go back to normal!"  
  
His patience grew ever thinner the longer he had to stand so close to Shijima. Yamato eyed him coldly, one arm pressed to Hibiki's back while he occupied himself with sniffing at Yamato's pale hair. Alright. Perhaps 'creepy' and 'weird' were more fair than he'd prefer to credit Shijima. It would likely be best to just take him to the infirmary before he tried something yet more inappropriate. "Shijima, whatever low opinion you might have of me, I cannot fathom how you would believe I'd keep him in this state intentionally. I am doing my best to help him, but you are merely exacerbating the situation. He cannot help it. He is cursed, as I already pointed out. He merely thinks he is infatuated."  
  
"What?!"  
  
Hibiki reared back in his grip like an offended snake, very nearly toppling backwards off Yamato's forearm. "I am not! I do not!" he asserted, right into Yamato's face with such vehemence it struck him as rude not to believe him.  
  
Balancing himself on Yamato's arm, Hibiki grasped his face again, framing it with smooth hands. He was spared only a few seconds of terror before Hibiki planted a firm kiss to his mouth, to the romantic chorus of Shijima's horrified squeals and a scandalized gasp courtesy of Nitta.  
  
Yamato felt rooted to the ground. He didn't move even when Hibiki went limp and pitched backwards, backflipping so hard he landed belly-down on the hallways floor. Slowly, he lowered his head to see Hibiki passed out on the floor in a tangle of limbs. When he raised his head again, there was Yanagiya with her phone held out and a perfectly angelic smile on her face.  
  
"Don't you equip Amrita, sir?" she asked innocently.  
  
Hibiki groaned and shifted there, slowly lifting up and touching his head. "Ugh, what happened?"  
  
He could not bring himself to speak for several seconds. Yamato swallowed and flattened his shoulders. "Amrita is stupid," he bit out, turning away from her with a dramatic swish of his coats and striding away. "Welcome back, Hibiki."


	6. Abel/Hibiki - good night/good morning kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for a good night/good morning kiss between Abel of Devil Survivor and Hibiki Kuze of Devil Survivor 2. Thank you so much for your request!
> 
> This chapter contains some mild spoilers for Devil Survivor, but none for Devil Survivor 2.

* * *

 

  
Hibiki couldn’t speak with any kind of experience as to what it would be like to swallow an enormous tower full of magic. He did, however, know that one of the apparent side effects was a permanent state of insomnia, which he only knew because Abel never slept.

Three years later and counting, Abel had not once let his head hit a pillow for any reason that didn’t involve getting naked. (He’d told Hibiki he’d passed out a couple of times since ascending his thorny throne, but neither of them had elected to count that as ‘sleep’.) He’d tried hard in the very beginning. When Hibiki would collapse into bed for some well-deserved shut-eye in preparation for a long day of work at JP’s, Abel would crawl into bed beside with him with a DS in hand and the full intention to at least sit with him through the night.

But wanderlust was a hell of a drug. Having to sit in silence so your partner could sleep did very little to ease such an intense feeling. Hibiki understood. There was no point in trying to keep him company when Hibiki would be oblivious to it anyway. At this point, Abel no longer stayed, but that hardly meant he neglected Hibiki to go partying while he slept the night away.

Every single night, Abel tucked him into bed with a sweet kiss good night, sprawling out over Hibiki on top of the covers and sinking his fingers through his wild curls, and every morning, mere seconds before his alarm would go off, he’d wake to the feeling of a warm body draped over his own and soft lips on his mouth.

Unorthodox though it was, Hibiki had difficulty imagining a better way to wake up – or go to sleep.

That particular Thursday night found Hibiki going through the motions of his nightly rituals. Around 23:30, he wandered into the bathroom to dozily brush his teeth, his eyes already drooping and his body heavy. He usually tried to be in bed at least a little earlier than that on work nights, since the Chief tended to comment on it when Hibiki was anything less than his absolute best, but Abel had beat him in Mario Kart too many times for him to take that lying down.

His mouth nice and minty fresh, Hibiki dropped his toothbrush back into its little cup and grabbed his dorky sweatband to snap over his face and shove his wild hair up over his forehead so he could splash cold water over his skin. When he finally wandered out of his bathroom to pitch over into their bed, he could feel a heavier weight sinking down on either side of his hips.

He peeked out from over the covers to see Abel hovering over him, his pretty blue hair casting shadows over his skin and an extremely playful smile dancing across his mouth. “You just gonna sleep like that all night? You look like you’re about to start your own late night 80’s fitness tape.”

Hibiki blinked as he felt Abel’s thumb slide beneath the sweatband still keeping his hair at bay. He pinched the fabric and lifted it up, letting it snap lightly against Hibiki’s forehead. “Oops.”

With a snort, Abel grinned for him and peeled it off, his bright red eyes following the tumble of Hibiki’s bangs. “Nerd.” He sat back a little straighter, yanking Hibiki’s sweatband down around his neck and shoving it up until his hair sprayed around it like blue sun beams. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous,” Hibiki assured him.

“Perfect.”

He leaned forward onto his knees and let gravity do its thing, collapsing on top of Hibiki and kissing him warmly. “Sleep tight, Usamimi.”

“Thanks. I’ll try.” Hibiki shifted just enough to be able to kiss the chilly tip of Abel’s nose. “Where are you going to explore tonight?”

At that, Abel lit up just like the sun Hibiki had compared him to. “A haunted beach! Pixie told me she heard about some stretch of ocean where all the sand screams. Isn’t that super cool?”

Hibiki could feel himself cringe internally, but he tried not to let it show on his face. Instead, he clapped his hands to Abel’s warm cheeks and squished them fondly. “It sounds great, Abel. Have fun.”

Abel smiled for him and pried his hands away before he kissed him again, his lips warm and insistent. Tired though he might be, Hibiki was _never_ too exhausted to indulge in his sweet demon lord’s affection. He tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering shut and his arms winding tightly around Abel’s skinny back as he kissed him like he was afraid Abel might forget him. “I love you.”

“I love you, Hibs. Sweet dreams.”

He scooted up with his elbows and smacked a kiss between Hibiki’s eyes.

Then he disappeared to go explore his absolutely terrifying beach, leaving Hibiki to get comfortable in bed. He’d been afraid that sleeping all by himself every night would get to be lonely, but he’s discovered that there is a lot to be said for spreading out like a starfish.

Hibiki rolled into the middle of the bed, drawing the covers along with him until he resembled quite the respectable sushi roll. His alarm was set, his mouth fresh and minty, his face clean and still tingling from the feeling of cool soap. Sleep claimed him in the safety of the enormous penthouse with Abel’s name stamped on the lease in blood and the knowledge that before the chime of his phone woke him, he’d have a good morning kiss to look forward to.

Hibiki slept like a baby.


End file.
